


Flying and Falling

by yujacheong



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Forbidden Love, Guilt, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Canon, The Force, Unhappy Ending, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/pseuds/yujacheong
Summary: The Father loves The Son, and The Son loves The Father. This love will be their downfall.“My son, what are you doing?” asks The Father. He knows he shouldn’t allow himself to be so moved by the appearance of this shift, but the love between them is real, all too real, and his son, his son…“Play with me. I want you.” His son is opening himself, and that gaping nether-mouth makes its demands, impresses its needs upon his consciousness, and it seems that reality itself bends around his son, becoming dark, becoming black, collapsing into itself like a dying star, an irresistible gravitational force…
Relationships: The Father/The Son | Fanged God
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Flying and Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soarc/gifts).



His two children have no mother. They’ve only ever had their father. Perhaps that is where his troubles with his young son began.

“Father, you’ve been gone for so long. Why don’t you come and play with me?” pleads his son, hopping impatiently from foot to foot.

His daughter has a serene, solemn temperament and has not indulged in play with the family for millennia. His son, however, still needs the diversion, for he is tempestuous and impatient. His manifestation in the physical realm is already beginning to shift, in fact – from man to winged creature to toothsome monster and back to man again.

The Father coalesces out of the Force as he rises from his seated meditations, the weight of his new body and the robes that body wears falling heavily upon him like a burden of the ten ages. He is a man today, older than his son has chosen to manifest, of course, as is only proper, but he is by no means frail. He stands straight and tall, and when he launches himself into the air on wings of pure Force energy, it is with a blinding burst of speed that lights up the sky.

“Catch me if you can!” he shouts, not bothering to look behind him.

His son chortles with glee and takes to the air right behind him as the winged creature. His wings are snowy white and tipped on the trailing edges with crimson, purple, and gold. He is beautiful…but then, everything about his son is beautiful. What father would not look upon a son of his flesh and fail to believe the same?

Together, they fly, ascending on the updrafts and descending again in dizzying, spiraling dives. Their power lights the heavens and reshapes the very substance of existence around them. They are vibrant, eternal. The Father is faster than his son, but his son is nothing if not persistent, and he chases his father relentlessly, almost, if not quite, matching him speed for speed, maneuver for maneuver, and eventually The Father allows his son to catch up – to catch _him_.

His son manages to grab his legs first, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as their wings beat in unison against the wind’s resistance. He pretends to attempt escape, banking hard in the direction of the largest, closet star, its rays bright enough to dazzle unwary eyes.

His son does not fall for the ruse, however, and keeps hold of his father, using the shift to his advantage as he twines himself around, and up, up, up his father’s straight, tall form until he has his father where he wants him, in his arms. They’re wrapped around one another now, face to face, chest to chest, limbs intertwined. They do not actually need wings to fly, and their wings now dissipate back into the luminous energies which surround them as they pull in closer, hearts and minds mingling, intermingled, so close that the very essences of father and son seem to fuse and merge –

“I love you, father,” says his son, sweet as the babe he once was long ago, in an age before linear time began.

“And I love you, my son,” he replies, for how can he not?

He feels his son’s happiness at this, at this declaration – this reaffirmation – of the love between them. His son is shifting yet again, energized by the excess emotion between them, to become a being of symmetrical features, softly rounded hips and thighs… and nigh irresistible beauty. _Seductive_ beauty. Beauty that asks and pleads and demands…

Oh! If he’d had a mother, she would perhaps have looked something like this.

“My son, what are you doing?” asks The Father. He knows he shouldn’t allow himself to be so moved by the appearance of this shift, but the love between them is real, all too real, and his son, his son…

“Play with me. I want you.” His son is opening himself, and that gaping nether-mouth makes its demands, impresses its needs upon his consciousness, and it seems that reality itself bends around his son, becoming dark, becoming black, collapsing into itself like a dying star, an irresistible gravitational force…

He is swallowed. Or, at least, a part of him is, the special, secret – forbidden – part of him that made his son. That makes him his son’s father. “Nonono, I can’t…!” he moans. He shouldn’t, that is true, but Force forbid, he can.

All too easily. The Father shifts; he doesn’t know if he meant to do it. But intentional or not, he has become a man, a man whose heart beats frantically and pounds against his ribcage, and whose stiff cock pounds into his son, again, again, again. And his son is pushing back into the penetration, and he too has shifted into the form of a man, a distorted mirror of his father, and his stiff cock is exposed, rubbing against his father’s belly, and his eyes glimmer with joyful tears, and his lips are red and full. They part as he moans, and The Father cannot resist – he must kiss them. And suck, and bite. It never seems to end, this terrible, fearsome union, and the pleasure only seems to grow wings of its own, carrying them higher, higher, higher, ever _higher_ –

Until, after an instant, after an eternity, after the beginning and end of twenty universes, they fall.

*

Their passion was too powerful, a single instance of carnal union altering the very nature of existence. There was creation but also destruction in the joining, and the destruction they wrought together – he knows that can never be allowed to recur. The danger to all that lives is too great.

When he takes up residence on Mortis, his children follow him there. They are family, after all. And when he chains the essence of himself to the planet, the act imprisons the two of them on Mortis, too. _Some_ bonds cannot be broken.

Others, however, can. Perhaps.

“Father, why don’t you come and play with me anymore?” asks his son, voice cracking with grief…and with the molten heat of nascent rage.

The Father ignores The Son and does not rise from his seated meditation. To do otherwise would be to jeopardize the very fabric of the Force itself. But in secret, in a place within himself his children's wings cannot reach, he grieves.


End file.
